Glitter, Party of One

The first video went viral before Tomas made it home.

Twenty-two seconds. Pink shorts. Glitter everywhere. His head down as he walked through town, hair hanging over his face like it might hide him. His steps were too fast to look casual and too slow to be called running.

That was the longest one.

Fifteen seconds from across the street, captioned TWIN RIVER GLITTER BOMB.

Nine seconds through a café window.

A grainy clip recorded from a pickup truck, the horn blaring as it passed.

Different angles.

Same story.

Tomas never watched any of them to the end.

Don’t worry, Red said. The internet is famous for forgetting things.

Tomas locked his phone and tossed it onto the bed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Red rested near the edge of the mattress, his zipper half-open.

It matters.

“I’m done.”

You’re exhausted. That isn’t the same thing.

Tomas lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling fan. It clicked through each slow rotation.

His scalp itched. Glitter clung to his hair, skin and clothes. It had already worked its way into the sheets and carpet. Every breath tasted faintly sweet, like chemicals and humiliation.

Red moved closer.

Let me help.

“With what?”

The glitter.

“You going to eat it?”

I have some dignity.

“You ate a carrot and spit it across a porch.”

I was making a point.

“What point?”

That carrots are terrible.

Tomas closed his eyes.

“Stay there. You hate glitter.”

I hate watching you give up more.

That landed harder than Tomas expected.

He sat up.

Red’s zipper shifted.

You erased the Collector’s markings.

“You did that.”

I directed the energy. It moved through you.

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

That has never stopped you before.

“Funny.”

Touch one piece.

Tomas looked down at his arm. A silver fleck clung near his wrist.

He touched it with one finger.

“Now what?”

Don’t think about that piece. Think about all of it.

“All the glitter in the world?”

Let’s start with the glitter currently ruining your life.

Tomas concentrated.

At first, he felt nothing.

Then the familiar pressure gathered behind his eyes. It moved slowly, searching through him until it found the connection between his hand and Red.

Rose-colored light glowed beneath Red’s zipper.

Hold on to the glitter, Red said. Every piece came from the same place. Every piece was used for the same purpose. Treat it as one thing.

“To embarrass me.”

Yes.

The pressure intensified.

Tomas saw the locker room again.

Noah’s phone.

Bryce smiling while Tomas stood beneath the shower.

The glitter pouring over his head.

His anger sharpened.

Now refuse it.

“What does that mean?”

You already know.

Tomas stared at the fleck beneath his finger.

“No.”

The glitter vanished.

Not only the piece on his wrist.

All of it.

Silver and blue disappeared from his hair and skin. The pieces scattered across the bed blinked out. The carpet cleared. The glitter lodged inside the seams of his clothing ceased to exist.

Tomas jerked his hand back.

Pain stabbed through his head.

Red’s light dimmed.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Tomas examined his hands.

“How did I do that?”

The same way you erased the claim.

“That felt different.”

You knew what you wanted this time.

Tomas looked at the clean sheets. “Can I do that with anything?”

I don’t know.

“Could I make Bryce disappear?”

Let’s avoid human experimentation until we understand the rules.

“What about the videos?”

Red went quiet.

Tomas grabbed his phone and held it out.

“Erase those.”

I can’t.

“You just erased glitter from an entire room.”

The glitter was here. It was one physical thing connected to one act. Those videos are data stored in places neither of us can see or touch.

“So?”

So it doesn’t work like that.

Tomas shoved the phone toward him.

It struck Red and rocked him backward.

“Figures.”

Red’s zipper rattled.

Tomas looked away.

He pulled off the gray school shirt and threw it on the floor. The pink shorts followed. He shoved both into the trash can and pushed them down until the lid closed.

You’re angry with the wrong person.

“I’m not angry with you.”

You threw a phone at me.

“It slipped.”

Your lies need work.

Tomas changed into jeans and a clean shirt.

His phone vibrated on the bed.

Another video had been posted.

This one showed the checkers tournament. Bryce stood in the center of the gym holding the fake talking backpack while students laughed.

The caption read:

WHEN BOOKBAG BOY BRINGS HIS COACH.

Below it, a second video began automatically.

Tomas in pink shorts, walking past the hardware store.

He stopped it.

At the top of the screen, Bryce had posted a new picture from a restaurant near the highway. Riker, Cayden and several other boys crowded around a table covered with pizza and sodas.

CHAMPIONS EAT FREE, Bryce had written.

Tomas stared at the timestamp.

Posted six minutes ago.

Bryce wasn’t home.

The thought arrived fully formed.

He could get the phone.

Not Bryce’s regular phone. The cheap black one Noah had sent the picture to. The one hidden in Bryce’s locker.

Bryce had taken it with him after school, but he might not carry it everywhere. Mr. Gramble had said Bryce went through phones. That meant there were others.

Maybe the photograph was stored on all of them.

Maybe the phone contained the names of everyone Bryce had sent it to.

Maybe Tomas could destroy it before the picture spread any further.

He crossed to Red.

The small screwdriver remained inside the bookbag’s front pocket.

Tomas opened the pocket and removed it.

Red shifted.

Why do you need that?

“I don’t.”

You just took it.

“I might have something to fix.”

What?

Tomas slipped the screwdriver into his jeans.

“Nothing.”

Red’s strap curled around his wrist.

Don’t.

“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Neither do you.

“I’m going for a ride.”

Then take me.

“No.”

The strap tightened.

Tomas pulled free.

“Bryce threatened to burn you. I’m not taking you anywhere near him.”

That’s exactly why we stay together.

“I can do this faster alone.”

Courtney warned us about separation.

“Courtney warns us about everything.”

And lately she’s been right.

Tomas placed one hand against Red’s canvas.

The connection between them hummed.

He remembered how he had folded it away the night before. How he had wanted privacy and somehow made the silence happen.

He wanted it again.

Not because he needed privacy.

Because Red would try to stop him.

Don’t do this, Red said.

Tomas pressed his thumb against the fabric.

The pressure behind his eyes returned.

Moron.

The connection folded.

Red’s voice vanished.

His strap dropped from Tomas’s wrist.

The rose-colored glow beneath his zipper faded to a weak pulse.

Tomas stepped back.

Red sat motionless on the bed.

“I’ll be back before dark.”

Silence.

Tomas left the light on.

He closed the bedroom door behind him.

For half a second, he stood in the hallway with his hand on the knob.

Don’t leave me alone.

He knew the rule.

He went downstairs anyway.

Cold air struck Tomas’s face when he stepped outside.

He bent forward with both hands on his knees and waited for the pain behind his eyes to settle.

Don’t cry.

He straightened.

We don’t cry in this family.

Kay had said that years ago during a long drive away from a place Tomas could no longer picture clearly. He remembered darkness beyond the windows. Kay’s hands gripping the steering wheel. Everything they owned packed behind them.

He didn’t remember where they had been.

He didn’t remember who they were leaving.

Only Kay’s voice.

We don’t cry in this family.

Tomas planted his feet and breathed until the tightness in his chest became manageable.

“Gallo, ¿estás bien?”

José stood near the barn, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Tomas forced a smile. “Sí. ¿Y tú?”

“Bien.” José studied him. “Berezina is working on the videos. Reporting them. Calling people.”

“She can get them taken down?”

José shrugged. “Berezina can be persuasive.”

“Tell her thanks.”

“De nada.”

José stepped forward and rested one hand on Tomas’s shoulder.

His eyes narrowed.

“Who hurt you?”

Tomas looked toward the barn.

The empty stalls waited inside.

“No one.”

José didn’t believe him.

Tomas changed the subject.

“Your rooster still picking fights with the goats?”

José smiled despite himself. “And winning.”

The normalcy helped.

For a few seconds, the videos and Bryce and the dead horses became manageable things. Problems that belonged to the same world as roosters fighting goats.

Tomas looked toward the house.

Red waited upstairs.

Guilt rose inside him.

He pushed it down.

He crossed the yard to the equipment garage. Kay kept it locked, but a spare key hung behind an old feed chart in the barn office. Tomas had known about it since he was ten.

He took one of the smaller ATVs.

Six months remained until his sixteenth birthday. Escape options were limited.

He put on a helmet and started the engine.

The lie came easily.

Just a ride.

He followed the farm lanes south, cut across a drainage trail and used the paved road only when he had no other choice.

He never looked back at the house.

Bryce’s neighborhood announced itself before the houses appeared.

The air smelled cut and watered, as if nothing had ever died there. Lawns stretched wide and perfect between stone mailboxes engraved with names people expected to be recognized.

Tomas stopped beneath a row of ornamental trees one block from Bryce’s house.

He checked Bryce’s post again.

The restaurant picture was twelve minutes old.

A second image showed Riker trying to balance a slice of pizza on his forehead.

They were still there.

Tomas hid the ATV behind the trees and removed his helmet. He carried it into the brush and covered it with dead branches.

Bryce’s house stood at the end of the street.

White brick.

Red trim.

Tall windows meant to display the life inside them.

Tomas walked past once.

No vehicles in the driveway.

No movement behind the glass.

He circled the block and approached from the rear.

The backyard looked like a magazine advertisement—pool, patio furniture and spotless glass doors stretching across the back of the house.

A security sticker occupied the lower corner of one door.

Tomas tried the handle.

Locked.

He removed Mr. Gramble’s screwdriver and worked the tip near the latch.

It slipped.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Then he noticed the dog door.

The plastic flap was large enough for a medium-sized dog. Scratches clouded the surface.

Tomas crouched and pushed through one shoulder at a time.

His ribs scraped the frame. Tile met his palms on the other side.

He froze.

No alarm sounded.

No one shouted.

The house remained still.

Above the door, a tiny red light blinked once.

Tomas didn’t see it.

The dog appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Black fur. White patch on her chest. Small enough to explain the dog door but large enough to have opinions about intruders.

She watched Tomas without barking.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Her head tilted.

Tomas lowered himself and held out one hand.

The dog approached cautiously. She sniffed his fingers before allowing him to scratch beneath her chin.

“You’re not going to bite me, are you?”

Her tail moved once.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

He stood.

The dog followed him to the stairs.

The carpet swallowed his footsteps.

Several doors lined the upper hallway. Tomas went to the one at the end.

Bryce’s room looked untouched.

The bed was made tightly enough to bounce a coin. Trophies lined two shelves. Clothes were arranged by color inside the open closet.

Nothing appeared used.

Nothing appeared real.

Tomas checked Bryce’s latest post again.

Still at the restaurant.

He began searching.

Desk drawers first.

School supplies. Game controllers. Receipts. A stack of gift cards held together by a rubber band.

No phone.

He checked the nightstand.

Nothing.

He opened the closet and searched the pockets of Bryce’s jackets.

Nothing.

Tomas moved faster.

He pulled storage boxes from beneath the bed. One struck the nightstand, and a trophy fell from the shelf.

Tomas tried to catch it.

The trophy hit the floor.

Its marble base split in half.

The crash sounded enormous.

Tomas stopped breathing.

The dog stood in the bedroom doorway.

Her ears lifted.

Neither of them moved.

When no one came, Tomas continued.

He lifted the mattress.

A folded towel lay beneath it. Nothing else.

He dropped the mattress crooked and looked toward the desk again.

The bottom drawer had no handle.

Only a small keyhole.

Tomas crouched.

He inserted the screwdriver beside the lock and pushed.

The wood creaked.

He worked the blade farther into the gap.

The drawer popped open.

Inside were four charging cords, several empty prepaid-phone packages and a thick envelope.

Tomas touched the envelope.

Cash shifted inside.

A small black phone rested beneath it.

The same cheap carrier logo was printed across the bottom.

Tomas picked it up.

The screen lit.

A message preview appeared.

NOAH: YOU GOTTA POST THIS.

Beneath the words was a thumbnail of Tomas in the locker room.

Wet.

Glitter covering his shoulders.

Pink shorts clutched in one hand.

His own face turned toward the camera.

For several seconds, Tomas couldn’t move.

Then he tried to open the message.

The phone demanded a passcode.

He entered Bryce’s birthday.

Wrong.

He tried the school mascot’s founding year.

Wrong.

The phone warned him that one more failed attempt would lock it.

Tomas stopped.

He slid the phone into his pocket.

The envelope of cash remained in the drawer.

He left it there.

The dog barked.

Once.

Sharp.

Tomas looked toward the hallway.

The dog barked again.

He ran.

He reached the kitchen and dropped to one knee near the dog door.

The animal blocked it, no longer curious.

Her growl vibrated through the room.

“Come on,” Tomas whispered. “You liked me two minutes ago.”

The dog barked.

Tomas lunged for the back door instead.

The moment he pulled it open, the alarm exploded.

He bolted across the patio.

The dog chased him, snapping at his heels without biting.

Tomas cleared the low fence and disappeared among the trees.

He found the ATV and shoved on his helmet.

The engine roared beneath him.

Gravel sprayed as he accelerated onto the road.

Only one thought cut through his panic.

Red.

Tomas pushed it aside and rode faster.

Upstairs at the farm, Red sat alone on the bed.

He tried to lift one strap.

It moved less than an inch before falling.

The connection to Tomas existed somewhere beyond the silence, but the boy had folded it out of reach.

Red tried again.

Nothing.

The bedroom light remained on.

That should have helped.

It didn’t.

The house settled around him.

Pipes clicked.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

Red listened.

He counted the sounds.

One.

Two.

Three.

Something moved behind the bedroom door.

Red’s zipper trembled.

Tomas?

No answer came.

The light flickered.

Darkness gathered in the corner of the room.

Tomas pulled into the farm driveway and killed the ATV.

Every light in the house was on.

Voices carried through the screen door.

Sharp.

Overlapping.

Trouble.

He left the ATV beside the drive and entered the house.

The kitchen and living room had blurred into one crowded space.

Everyone was there.

Sagen stood near the counter with both hands braced against it. Eljen sat in a chair that looked too small for him. Marleen remained close enough that one knee touched his. José hovered near the sink while Berezina stood behind him, one hand pressed between his shoulders.

Kay stood in the center of the room.

She wasn’t shouting.

That was worse.

“They used the north wash,” Sagen said. “Came around behind the south pasture. Missed both road cameras.”

“Because somebody told them where the cameras were,” Kay said.

“Or they watched the property.”

“They knew the old cattle cut was still open. Nobody sees that from the road.”

Eljen leaned forward. “That don’t mean one of us helped them.”

“The horses were taken in pairs,” Kay said. “They knew which animals were kept together. They knew the trails. They knew where to leave them so we’d find the smoke.”

Sagen looked toward the dark window.

“The tracks in the clearing were staged,” he said. “That’s all we know.”

“I know who benefits.”

Marleen folded her arms. “The man whose delivery you refused.”

Kay didn’t answer.

That was an answer.

“So we go after him,” Eljen said.

“No.”

“He killed twelve horses.”

“We don’t know that.”

“You just said—”

“I said he benefits.” Kay’s gaze traveled around the room. “If he sent someone, we find out who before we touch them.”

Sagen watched her. “You mean the girl.”

“She appeared the first time I refused him.”

Tomas stopped inside the doorway.

Kay continued.

“She lied about where she lives. Lied about her age. Walks onto school property whenever she wants. Gets near my son. Gets near that bag.”

“She’s fifteen,” Marleen said.

“No,” Kay replied. “She looks fifteen.”

The room went quiet.

Sagen straightened. “You think she works for him?”

“I think it’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.”

“Then bring her in,” Eljen said.

“No.” Kay’s voice sharpened. “Not until I know where she sits.”

“In his organization?”

“If she belongs to him, she could be a messenger. She could be family. She could be someone whose disappearance starts a war we aren’t ready to finish.”

Tomas shut the door harder than he intended.

Every head turned.

Kay stared at him.

“Where have you been?”

“Riding.”

“Where’s Red?”

“Upstairs.”

Something changed in Kay’s expression.

“You left that bag here and went riding?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Just around.”

Kay looked toward the window.

The ATV sat beside the driveway, mud streaked along its tires.

“You took the south trails.”

Tomas didn’t answer.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the property.”

“You never said that.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

Eljen looked Tomas over. “Yesterday’s outfit finally scare you away from town?”

Tomas ignored him.

Kay took one step closer.

“Did you go see Courtney?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Kay noticed.

So did everyone else.

“You calling me a liar?” Eljen asked. “I saw the two of you at school.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Kay asked.

“The tournament.”

“You’re still talking to her.”

“She found me.”

“And you couldn’t walk away?”

Tomas’s hand moved toward his pocket.

The stolen phone pressed against his thigh.

He dropped his hand.

“She isn’t working for anyone,” he said.

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that she is.”

“She appeared the same week I refused a delivery from a man who doesn’t tolerate no.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means I pay attention.”

“You think Courtney killed the horses?”

“I think she may have helped someone learn enough about this farm to do it.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“You’ve known her for days.”

“And you’ve never even talked to her.”

“I’ve talked to people like her my entire life.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Kay’s eyes narrowed.

Tomas realized too late that he had said it like he knew something she didn’t.

“What does that mean?” Kay asked.

“Nothing.”

“There’s that word again.”

Marleen shifted between them slightly.

“Kay,” she said, “the boy’s had a rough day.”

“This isn’t about school.”

“It’s always about school,” Tomas snapped. “Until you decide it’s about something worse.”

Kay stared at him.

“I think someone gave those people information,” she said. “Maybe on purpose. Maybe without understanding what they were doing.”

“You think I told Courtney how to get onto the farm.”

“I think you’re protecting someone you don’t understand.”

“She didn’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she told me.”

Several people exchanged looks.

Kay caught every one.

“She admits she knows about the horses?”

“I told her.”

“What else have you told her?”

“Nothing.”

“Does she know about the delivery?”

“No.”

“About our routes?”

“No.”

“The cameras?”

“No.”

“The north wash?”

“No.”

“Does she know who I work for?”

“I don’t even know who you work for.”

Tomas’s voice cracked against the final word.

Silence followed.

Kay’s expression shifted, but only for a second.

“You aren’t supposed to know.”

“That seems convenient.”

“It keeps you safe.”

“No. It keeps me stupid.”

Kay’s jaw tightened.

“You want me to believe this girl simply appeared because she likes you?”

Heat climbed Tomas’s neck.

“That isn’t what I said.”

“She has no address. No school records. No parents anyone can find.”

“You looked?”

“Of course I looked.”

Tomas thought about Courtney’s warning.

People see what they expect to see.

Kay had looked at Courtney and seen something dangerous.

She wasn’t wrong.

She was only wrong about what kind.

“Who sent her?” Kay asked. “The man I refused?”

“No one.”

“Your father?”

The room went completely still.

Even the old refrigerator seemed to stop humming.

Tomas stared at her.

“My what?”

Kay knew immediately that she had gone too far.

She looked away.

Tomas laughed once.

The sound came out sharp and wrong.

“You don’t get to do that.”

“Tomas.”

“You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

“This isn’t the time.”

“It was the time when you wanted to accuse Courtney.”

“I’m considering every possibility.”

“Then tell me who he is.”

“No.”

“Is he alive?”

Kay’s face closed.

“Go upstairs.”

“Does he know where we are?”

“Tomas.”

“Is that who you think is coming?”

“I said go upstairs.”

“You think I helped Courtney kill twelve horses, but you won’t tell me my father’s name?”

“I never said you killed anything.”

“You said I gave her information.”

“I said you might not understand what you gave her.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No,” Kay said. “It isn’t.”

“You think I’d hurt the horses?”

Her expression softened.

The softness made it worse.

“I think you want someone outside this family badly enough that you aren’t asking who she really is.”

Tomas felt every person in the room watching him.

“You don’t want me to have anything outside this place.”

“That isn’t true.”

“You don’t even want me knowing who my father is.”

“This conversation is over.”

Kay pointed toward the stairs.

“Go to your room.”

Tomas opened his mouth.

He could tell her about Red.

The stones.

The Collector.

Courtney being a Keeper.

He could tell her that something from another world had found him in the woods and promised to take what he carried.

He could tell her about the phone hidden in his pocket and why he had stolen it.

Instead, he looked at Kay’s face and knew exactly what she would see.

Another lie.

“You wouldn’t believe me anyway,” he said.

“Tomas—”

“I’m the stupid kid helping the horse killers, remember?”

“No one said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He turned and took the stairs two at a time.

The argument resumed behind him.

“Kay, that was too far.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“He’s fifteen.”

“So is she supposed to be.”

Tomas reached the upper hallway.

His bedroom door stood closed.

For one terrible second, he remembered the rule.

Don’t leave me alone.

He opened the door.

Red hung in the air.

Dark coils wrapped around his straps and body, holding him several feet above the floor.

The bedroom light remained on, but shadows had swallowed the corners. They stretched across the ceiling like smoke moving against the wind.

Red didn’t speak.

“Red!”

Tomas lunged forward.

The darkness struck him.

Cold tendrils wrapped around his arms, chest and legs. They lifted him from the floor and slammed him against the wall.

The stolen phone pressed painfully into his thigh.

A voice filled the room.

Not loud.

It didn’t need to be.

“You came back.”

Tomas fought against the coils.

They tightened.

“Let him go.”

The darkness shifted.

Something inside it laughed.

“Which one?”

Tomas froze.

The twelve stones.

One consciousness.

Red.

The Collector drew the bookbag closer to the center of the room.

“You left him alone,” it said.

Guilt struck harder than the tendrils.

“I came back.”

“Eventually.”

The shadows carried Tomas away from the wall.

Red hung motionless in front of him.

The bookbag’s zipper remained open just far enough for Tomas to see a weak rose-colored glow inside.

“You said you would change all of it,” the Collector whispered.

Tomas looked toward the door.

The voices downstairs had vanished.

Not stopped.

Vanished.

The room had folded away from the house.

No one could hear him.

“I didn’t mean you.”

“You rarely know what you mean.”

The darkness closed around his throat.

The Collector’s voice became almost gentle.

“Sleep.”

Tomas kicked against the shadows.

“Sleep.”

The blackness tightened.

The last thing he saw was Red hanging in the Collector’s grip.

Then the room disappeared.